


anchor >> seabed

by hypernomad



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Anal Sex, Bipolar Disorder, Body Image, M/M, Medication, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:07:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3908926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypernomad/pseuds/hypernomad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Medication has some unfortunate side-effects, and Ian has yet to make his peace with them. Mickey knows at least one way of making him feel better, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	anchor >> seabed

**Author's Note:**

> Minor trigger warning for talk of body image issues, specifically relating to weight.

“ _Jesus_ , I’m fat.”

Mickey glances up from counting through the stack of cash on the bed. Ian’s standing sideways in front of the full-length mirror on their closet door and running a hand over his slightly softer belly with a frown.

“No you’re not.” Mickey says distantly, trying to concentrate on the stream of numbers in his head.

“I’m _obese_.”

“If you’re obese then the rest of us are on the verge of a fuckin’ heart attack. You’re the same skinny son of a bitch you’ve always been.”

“It’s these fuckin’ meds again!” Ian says in annoyance, hardly taking any notice of what Mickey is saying and grabbing the bottle of pills from the dresser. He grips them in his hand so tightly it’s as if he’s trying to squeeze them hard enough for his palm to swallow them up.

“You don’t look any different to me.”  Mickey replies with a frown, slipping the pen from behind his ear and scrawling down a figure on a notepad resting on his knee. The extortion racket is one of the better ideas Iggy’s had lately – Mickey’s dubious about accepting his brother’s advice with his track record of poorly thought-out and usually life-endangering insurance jobs – but it seems to be going pretty well for the time being if the numbers are anything to go by.

“Mick, please. Be honest. Do I look fatter to you?” Ian asks with a frown, turning to face him and running his hands down his sides, trying to smooth out his flesh.

Mickey sighs and finally looks up at his boyfriend fully, tilting his head to one side and leaning back on his hands while he inspects him. He looks a little bigger all over, but mostly around his upper body. His shoulders, upper arms and chest look fuller; they fill out his shirt a little more than they did before, but his muscles are still obvious and if anything he just looks beefier and chunkier in all the right places. Mickey licks his lips and smiles.

 “You look a _little_ thicker—”

“I knew it!” Ian whines.

“—but you don’t look fat. Definitely not fat.” Mickey finishes pointedly.

Ian is silent for a few moments. “I’ve been running every day. How am I putting on weight? I’m even eating less than I did before.” He adds quietly, pouting.

“The doctor said that meds can be weird like that, though, and you’ve only been taking them for- what, two and a half weeks? It’s probably just water retention or some shit. Give them a chance.” Mickey says, and then returns to counting another wad of cash.

Ian turns to look in the mirror and is silent for a few moments. He doesn’t look _that_ much bigger, but since he’s always been on the leaner side, it’s enough to make him notice.

“Do you still think I’m hot?”

The question is so ridiculous that Mickey almost doesn’t answer, but when he looks up at the other boy, he’s wearing his pathetic kicked puppy expression and he can’t resist. “Ian, I literally came on your face this morning. I’m pretty sure that speaks for itself.”

 “You’re a dude. We’re pretty much happy to cum, period.” Ian mumbles, still pouting at him.

Mickey rolls his eyes, then shifts a little and runs a hand through his hair bashfully. “Honestly man, I’m probably even more attracted to you than I was before.”

“…Really?” Ian asks quietly.

“Yeah...”

“Oh…”

It’s silent for a moment and Ian slowly crawls, spider-like, onto the bed, over to where Mickey is sitting, and kneels on all fours in front of him. Mickey eyes him, his mouth a firm line and his brow furrowed, when the redhead simply stays there and stares at him without a word.

“So you’re a chubby-chaser, then.” Ian says finally, trying to hold back a giggle.

“Fuck off, no I’m not.” Mickey says, shoving his face away with his splayed hand.

Ian laughs, his voice muffled by Mickey’s palm. “You gonna start force-feeding me burgers and donuts? I should watch my back. Make sure you’re not slipping extra sugar into my coffee—”

“Fuck. Off.” Mickey replies, holding back his smile and picking up his pen again. “I’m trying to work here.”

Ian glances around at the manila envelopes, rubber bands and piles of loose bills strewn across the bed before the older boy. His mouth twists into a devious smile and then he’s picking up a roll of cash and pulling the rubber band off.

Mickey’s eyebrows jump up to his hairline and his nostrils flare. “You do what I think you’re going to do, and I swear to all that is holy I will flick your ballsac while you sleep. Hard.”

Ian raises an eyebrow and pings the rubber band against his finger gently. “Kinky.”

“I will leave a bruise, Ian, I don’t give a fuck.”

Ian responds by throwing the cash in the air and singing the chorus of ‘Money Money Money’ by ABBA while the bills float down on them like rain.

Mickey shakes head and sighs.

“Come on Mick! You know the words!” Ian laughs as he picks up another wad of cash and stands, jumping on the bed and sprinkling it over Mickey’s head.

“You are a literal four-year-old, you know that?”

“Come on, old man!” Ian says, grabbing Mickey’s arm and trying to pull him up.

Mickey lets out a burst of laughter, shaking his head in annoyance, and gives in. Ian is laughing hysterically while he throws all of Mickey’s uncounted racket cash in the air and jumps with him on the bed, making the stacked mattresses wobble precariously and knocking things off the side with every bounce of their feet. Ian’s long, loose hair flips and gets caught in his mouth and his mirth-wet eyes while he laughs, boyish and free. Mickey joins him in the moment and grasps for Ian, who twists and slips out of his reach teasingly. Suddenly, they’re 18 and 19 years old, and Mickey feels his age for the first time in a long while. He laughs right along with him, his grin sharp and impish while he grips Ian’s elbows and gazes up at him while they laugh and leap around.

Their jumping stops abruptly when Ian suddenly grabs Mickey and body-slams him into the mattress. It’s a short fall and Mickey lands neatly on his back. (Ian had pulled the same move on Lip enough times on Frank and Monica’s bed when they were kids to pull it off safely.) (Not that he’d almost broken Lip’s spine that one time he fucked it up when they were seven and eight years old or anything.)

“Oh shit-!” Mickey yells as he’s flipped onto his back, his body bouncing off of the mattress hard. Ian drops heavily onto the bed next to him. Still laughing, barely a moment passes before Mickey is climbing on top of him. “Okay, you fuckin’ asked for it-” he grunts, grinning impishly as he starts tickling under Ian’s arms.

 “No!” Ian yells in between hysterical laughter, locking his arms stiffly against his body, and trapping Mickey’s still wriggling fingers while tears stream down his face.

Mickey snickers devilishly above him and pulls his hands away from Ian’s underarms to move onto his ribs. “Not such a fuckin’ tough guy now, huh?!” he laughs through clenched teeth, “That’s what you get—for—throwin’—all my—cash!”

Ian lets out something sounding like a squeal and Mickey giggles uncontrollably above him. Mickey doesn’t think he’s ever seen the other boy laugh so hard in all the time he’s known him, and he thinks it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He finally stops, and Ian’s laughs gradually peter out while he blinks up at him blearily through wet eyes. Mickey wipes at them and then leans down, the pair of them still giggling a bit, to plant a kiss on his mouth. They pant a little into the kiss, and Ian wraps his arms tightly around the other boy and they roll a little bit on the mattress while they press as close as they can to each other’s bodies.

“Hmm,” Mickey hums as he pulls away, resting his forehead against Ian’s for a moment, “revenge tastes pretty damn good.”

“Damn straight it does.”

Mickey purses his lips. “Now _that’s_ an interesting choice of words.” Their voices are just barely audible; intimately murmured words into the tight space between them, private and playful.

“It’s a damn good thing you’re not ticklish, huh?” Ian says. Mickey’s eyes widen. “Except…”

Mickey tries to squirm away in time, but Ian’s too fast. His hands find their way to Mickey’s ribs and underarms and he tickles him until Mickey is laughing and swearing and wriggling frenziedly.

“Fuck you!” Mickey manages to bark out through laughter as Ian tries to roll him onto his back awkwardly. It doesn’t quite work, and Mickey manages to hook his leg around Ian’s hip and roll them back so that he’s on top again. He fights a gasping Ian’s arms off him and pins his loose arms down on the mattress below him while Mickey tries to catch his breath, grinning.

“You lose, fuckface,” Mickey breathes out, and Ian pants below him, his hair fanned about his head and weeping with mirth. Finally, Mickey lets go of his wrists and settles against him again.

As they calm down, Ian runs his hands up and down Mickey’s back, slipping beneath his loose t-shirt and caressing the soft, warm skin and firm muscles. Mickey runs his hands through Ian’s long hair and over his face gently, and they lie there for fifteen minutes or so, their interlocked legs dangling off the side of the bed as they kiss and mumble gentle words to each other.

“Alright, Tickles,” Mickey sighs gently, lifting his head up from where he’d rested it in the crook of Ian’s neck, having slipped to one side lightly to make it easier for the redhead to breathe. He pats Ian’s chest softly as he moves to sit up. “I gotta get all this to Tony’s by tomorrow so he can launder it—”

Ian interrupts him by flipping them over.

“Ian, seriously, come on—”

“Haven’t you ever wanted to fuck on a bed of money?” Ian asks.

Mickey blinks. “I never really thought about it.”

“Neither did I ‘til just now.” Ian says, cocking an eyebrow.

Mickey sighs and shakes his head. “It’s stolen, man. It’s worthless ‘til we get it laundered.”

“To be honest Mick, it’s the closest we’re ever going to get. You’re just gonna have to use your imagination.”

It’s silent for a moment while Ian teases the older boy’s beltline ever so lightly, and Mickey chews his lip, eyeing him thoughtfully, before pulling his t-shirt off. Ian grins and helps to push it up, and bends down to kiss the brunet deeply on the mouth once it’s off. Mickey moans into it softly and runs his hands through Ian’s hair, fingers gently untangling the small knots which had formed in it. Ian’s hands run up his sides and under his shoulders, breaking the kiss to trail more down the older boy’s neck. Mickey sighs and tilts his head back, moaning as Ian spends a few minutes sucking a hickey into the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

When he pulls away, Mickey stares up at him and, without breaking eye contact, goes to remove Ian’s t-shirt, pulling at the hem. To his surprise, Ian covers his hands with his own and stops him.

“What?” He whispers,

“I just—I don’t want to take it off.”

“Why not?”

“I just… I don’t feel good with it off.”

Mickey is silent for a beat. “Are you really that uncomfortable?”

Ian doesn’t say anything; he just looks away and scratches the back of his neck. “I don’t feel like myself anymore as it is; now it’s like… even my body is slipping away from me.”

Mickey swallows the lump in his throat. “I don’t really know what to say,” he says, “except…”

“I don’t expect you say anything, Mick,” Ian sighs, “you can’t fix this.”

“You know it’s just the meds.”

Ian lays his head down on the older boy’s chest, dejected. “Yeah, and I have to take them, or I’ll make things even worse for myself… and you.”

Mickey plants a kiss on his forehead and cradles it gently against himself. “You know I’ll stand by you no matter what… but you need to make a choice about what’s more important to you.”

“What does that mean?” Ian asks.

“Would you rather carry a few extra pounds—which I still think is just water retention, by the way, look at this—” he pokes Ian’s hip a few times, “—you’re like memory foam—or do you want to get so manic you end up a jail cell for stealing babies and luggage and shit all over again?”

Ian doesn’t reply. His eyes are trained on his hip where Mickey poked it. There’s still a bit of an imprint.

Mickey sighs. “Give it another couple of weeks and we’ll speak to the shrink about changing meds. Does that sound good to you?”

Ian sighs and nods. “I fucking hate this.”

“I know, baby,” Mickey whispers, his heart aching, “but it’ll be okay. You’ll be fine.”

Ian looks up at the older boy, his head still cradled by Mickey’s arms, his tattooed fingers running through his hair and stroking his cheekbone. He doesn’t think that anyone’s ever really looked at him like Mickey does. Nobody has ever seen inside his head like Mickey has, even though Ian’s never really been sure how much he wants people to be there; behind his eyes and inhabiting his consciousness so tenaciously. He wants Mickey there though; can’t imagine Mickey not being there.

They’re kissing again, and Ian tries to tell him these things with tongue and his hands. They slide their jeans off, and Ian doesn’t notice his shirt being lifted up and off of his body; doesn’t pay it any heed or discomfort this time. He moans as Mickey’s lips trail across his jaw and up to his ear to caress his ear with his breath and kiss. Ian kisses down his neck and then down his chest, placing a kiss on his nipple, over his sternum and abdomen. He closes his eyes and is warmed by Mickey’s hands against his hair and forehead as he gently kisses the brunet’s belly and dips his tongue into his belly button playfully. Finally, he moves lower and nuzzles the crook of his groin. He can still smell the menthol freshness of his own soap – he must’ve told Mickey a hundred times to stop using it, but he doesn’t really mind. He just likes hearing Mickey tell him to go fuck himself, he’ll stop using it when Ian starts buying his own damn hair gel. Somehow he knows the feeling is mutual.

His hands stroke down Mickey’s sides and then over his hips and thighs. Mickey shivers and lets out a chuff as Ian finally licks over his straining dick. His tongue coils against his base and then up over the head, his hand coming up to stroke over his shaft and pull the foreskin back gently. His head bobs and his tongue flicks over his fraenulum gently every now and then. Mickey writhes above him, letting out strangled moans at Ian’s gentle but electrifying ministrations, his head flopping against the mattress as his fingers tighten in Ian’s hair. Ian spends a few minutes bobbing his head and gazing up at the older boy; from the outstretched length of his neck and their pulsing tendons, his Adam’s Apple bobbing every time he swallows, the black of his eyelashes against his flushed cheeks, his clenched teeth and parted lips, over his heaving chest, down to his quivering belly.

“Ian-!” he gasps, “I’m gonna—!”

Ian pulls off just in time, a trail of saliva trailing between his lips and the head of Mickey’s dick. He wipes at his mouth and holds the base of it, pressing his fingers with just enough pressure to hold back his orgasm.

“You okay?” He asks.

Mickey is panting a little, his eyes watery. He grins and sighs. “Fuck, man,” he laughs.

“A little too much, huh? Sorry, Mick.” Ian says, smiling, and strokes his face.

He lets him recover for a moment, pulling his hand away and moving lower. He grunts as he rubs himself against the mattress with the movement, unexpectedly giving himself a little relief.

Mickey chuckles, making Ian glance up. “You want a little help with that?”

Ian smirks. “You wait your damn turn.”

“Hurry up then. I’m not gettin’ any younger.”

Ian wants to make a joke about Mickey already having the mental age of a man on Medicare, but he opts for grabbing the underside of his thighs and pushing them up so they hook over his shoulders instead. Mickey gasps and lets out a breathy moan as Ian’s tongue laves over his balls and perineum firmly. He does this a few times, making the older boy shudder and groan.

A moment later and his tongue is on his asshole, licking over and around it just a bit too lightly, stimulating the nerve endings there. Mickey lets out a strangled moan as he arches his back and spreads his legs wider, his toes brushing Ian’s back. Ian circles his tongue a few more times before he presses the muscle into him more fully, holding onto his hips and stroking the indent marks from his boxers across his waist.

Mickey groans and rolls his hips towards Ian’s mouth eagerly, and keeps moaning when Ian really starts to eat him out firmly. He darts his tongue in and out rapidly, reaching around to gently jerk his dick, pushing and pulling at his foreskin the way the older boy likes it. Mickey moans Ian’s name and covers his hand with his own.

He pulls away after a few minutes of this, unable to stand the ache in his balls (or the cramp in his thighs from sitting on his knees) any longer. “Fuck,” he grunts throatily, “I need to be inside you, now.”

“Alright, just—” Mickey says, his own face flushed and desperate. He rolls onto his side and pushes a few stray bills out from underneath him. “Fuck, those corners are sharp...”

Ian laughs as he crawls over to the shelf above the bed for the lube and a condom. He smiles slightly as Mickey spreads his legs open for him and reaches down to tug at his dick a bit, licking his lips in arousal. Ian knows that look well; Mickey’s nostrils flare and he licks his lips, eyes soft, whenever he’s thinking about having Ian’s cock down his throat. Ian’s half-tempted to indulge him, but he’s got something even better in mind.

Barely a few seconds pass until Ian’s fingers are slick with lube and pressing into Mickey’s hole gently. Mickey pushes back, his dick leaking over his belly, eager for more. Ian presses his index finger in along with his middle and begins fucking him with them slickly. He adds a third and looks up at the older boy as he crooks them toward himself.

The response is immediate; Mickey cries out, jerking his head back sharply. “Fuck!” He moans, and gasps a few times as he relaxes a little, “get inside me, please…” He begs.

Ian doesn’t need to be told twice. He rips open the condom and rolls it on, smearing lube over himself, and then lines himself up. He rubs the head of his dick against Mickey’s hole a few times before he presses inside, being careful not to ram in too hard. He watches Mickey’s face for signs of pain and pushes until he’s all the way in. He doesn’t realise he’s been holding his breath until he lets it out, sighing through his nose and biting his lip.

Mickey’s hand makes him jump when it touches his cheek, and Ian leans into it, nuzzling his palm, almost cat-like. Sighing, he leans forward and braces himself on the mattress either side of the older boy’s torso, his heart twisting when Mickey wraps his arms around his neck and his legs tighten around his waist.

Gently, he begins thrusting in and out of him, watching Mickey’s face change from focused to unfocused and then closing as Ian gradually picks up the pace. Things heat up pretty quickly after that; Ian breaks away from a passionate kiss to moan, shivering at the sight, sensation, smell and sound of them – his hips and balls slapping into Mickey’s rhythmically with every thrust, the smell of sex and shared soap and sheets that probably need washing and Mickey’s skin overloading his senses. He buries his nose in Mickey’s neck to breathe it in, addicted.

Over Ian’s shoulder, Mickey catches a glance of their reflection in the mirror Ian had been standing before earlier. In it, he can see the muscles of Ian’s back and the bulk of his arms, as well as his own legs wrapped tightly around Ian’s waist, covered in a sheen of sweat and flushed pink. He moans, gripping Ian’s shoulders tightly, his nails digging in and leaving little crescent-moon indentations behind.

“Jesus, you’re fucking beautiful,” he whispers, barely registering his own voice.

Ian’s hips stutter, and he plants a kiss on his mouth, licking inside his mouth and jabbing upwards in several small thrusts against his sweet spot. Mickey moans are loud as he comes between them, unaided, the feeling rushing up his spine and down his legs to his toes and back again, and Ian smiles blissfully, pulling away from the kiss to let him breathe, and heads toward the finish line himself.

He jerks his hips rapidly a few more times until he comes, and Mickey smiles tiredly at the sight of Ian’s ass cheeks clenching in the mirror as his orgasm pulses through him and fills the condom. Ian grunts and squeezes his eyes shut as it subsides, and then slumps against the smaller man in exhaustion. He straightens his legs out, slips out of him, gets rid of the condom and rolls to the side a little to take some of the pressure off.

Things are very still for a while after that, their breaths peppering the cold air above them, taking the edge off the clammy heat that their fucking had filled the space between them with. Finally, Mickey turns to face Ian, whose eyes are closed in half-sleep.

“Hey,” he says quietly, stroking his cheek with one finger, “you awake?”

“Mmh,” Ian groans.

“I won’t be offended if you want to sleep,” Mickey murmurs, “I could wake you up when I do dinner?”

“Okay,” Ian yawns, and curls up on his side.

Mickey smirks and kisses his head. When he pulls away, Ian catches his hand and brings it to his lips. Mickey turns back to him.

Ian is watching him as he kisses his fingers. “You’re perfect. I love you,” he says quietly.

Mickey smiles and unfurls his index finger to rub it against the end of his nose playfully, “I love you too. Get some sleep.”

Ian falls asleep almost immediately.

Mickey wipes them off with a tissue, clears up the scattered money, rubber bands, and manila envelopes and then covers Ian with a blanket. He’s about to get dressed and take his things out to the kitchen table to finish counting when he takes one look at Ian and thinks, ‘fuck it’.

He sighs, drops his stuff on the dresser and climbs under the blanket with Ian, wrapping himself around him.

The money can wait for another day. 


End file.
